


A Surprisingly Friendly Visit

by linndechir



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bondage, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: Jonathan would have imagined being at McCullum's mercy to turn out a lot more unpleasant.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 10
Kudos: 210
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	A Surprisingly Friendly Visit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Masu_Trout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/gifts).



The silver cross was shining in the dim light, dangling only an inch or two above Jonathan’s face, sometimes closer, sometimes higher up, a few times almost brushing his skin. He wasn’t sure if it would burn him right now, without any intent to hurt behind it. He found that he didn’t care. He was far more distracted by the pale throat above it, the tantalising pulse of blood in it, faster from the exertion. He realised that he’d never seen Geoffrey’s throat before tonight – not when he always kept it covered by a scarf, which he seemed to wear about as religiously as the cross around his neck, now the only thing he _hadn’t_ taken off tonight. And both had clearly served their purpose, because for all that Geoffrey had more than a few bite scars on his body – on his arms, his legs, one even on his chest, puckered scar tissue that would no doubt be rough to the touch – the skin of his throat was entirely smooth and unmarred. Perfect and inviting.

“Stop staring at my neck, leech,” Geoffrey interrupted his thoughts, his voice as sharp as ever, even now that it was breathless. He shifted on top of Jonathan, tightened around Jonathan’s cock so deliciously that it did a much better job distracting him from his throat than any words could have. It felt maddeningly good, and yet all Jonathan could do was thrust up into him. He flexed his fingers, curled them around the thick iron chains that kept his wrists tied to the bed. It was almost unbearable not to be able to touch Geoffrey, after all these months of looking and wanting and not letting himself even think about it too much.

He hadn’t known what to expect when Geoffrey had shown up at his house that night, with angry determination in his eyes and a large bag full of heavy chains. Maybe he should have been more mistrustful, but as long as the uneasy truce between them had already lasted, after fighting side by side and maybe saving each other’s life once or twice, Geoffrey McCullum simply deciding to murder him hadn’t sounded like a particularly likely option. The man was a fanatic, but he was no madman. There was method to what he did or didn’t do. And he’d been methodical about this too, ordering Jonathan to undress, looking almost surprised when Jonathan actually obeyed, and then chaining him neatly to the bed before he’d taken a single piece of clothing off his own body. Making Jonathan watch him while he couldn’t get his hands on him.

“As long as you don’t expect me to stop staring at you altogether,” Jonathan said. The muscles in his arm twitched again, yearning to reach out. He wondered what those scars would feel like underneath his fingers, wanted to feel Geoffrey’s muscles shift, those strong thighs that were flexing every time Geoffrey raised himself up a little and then sank back down on Jonathan’s cock. A few drops of sweat ran over his chest, caught on bone-white scar tissue and lingered there, and Jonathan felt as if he could almost taste them on his lips. It was frustrating him, that he couldn’t touch even as Geoffrey was touching him however he pleased – his fingers splayed over Jonathan’s chest, bracing himself while he had his way with him. If Jonathan had known that this was what it would take for him to finally have Geoffrey after thinking for so long that all his sordid fantasies were doomed to remain just that, he would have chained himself up for his pleasure some time ago.

“No, you can look,” Geoffrey said magnanimously, as if that was the height of generosity. When he laughed, his whole body seemed to tighten again, and Jonathan couldn’t bite back the growl that crawled up his throat. The cross shook a little on the leather string that held it around Geoffrey’s neck, warm silver almost but not quite brushing over Jonathan’s lips. Jonathan hadn’t even kissed him yet – no part of him, not his lips, not his hands, not his broad chest, certainly not his cock, tantalisingly hard where it brushed against Jonathan’s stomach. If he looked just right, he could see the blood pumping through it, the heat of it, and a horrible part of him wanted to know if it’d taste any different there than on that perfect, pale neck … 

Geoffrey suddenly stopped moving on top of him and grabbed Jonathan’s chin, held him still while he stared him down.

“Don’t get your hopes up. You’re not biting me.” Even now there was so much strength in his blue eyes, so much unrelenting determination. Geoffrey was hardly the type of man Jonathan had preferred once – before he’d been turned into this, before the war, back when he’d still thought about normal, harmless things like which men he found most attractive – but he had always liked men who looked like they were in charge even with a cock up their arse. It just had never occurred to him that Geoffrey McCullum might be one of those men. He would have expected him to be far too proud to allow it.

“I wouldn’t, even if I didn’t know what you’d do if I tried,” Jonathan said, but the last word was already muffled when Geoffrey rubbed his thumb over his lips. His skin was rough there, calloused, blood pulsing underneath. If only Geoffrey wasn’t being such an infuriating tease about this, when Jonathan hadn’t had anyone touch him since … since before. Not that he was going to admit that, of course. Even if Geoffrey might well suspect – he did spend a considerable amount of time “keeping an eye” on Jonathan –, Jonathan still had some pride left.

“No? Never? You wouldn’t snap like the beast you are, the moment you catch the scent of blood?”

Jonathan wanted to point out the flaw in that accusation, considering that he spent his nights around bleeding patients and had yet to snap and turn into a crazed killer in all this time, but then none of those people were McCullum, who smelt so distracting that Jonathan had been almost relieved every time he refused medical attention after they’d gone hunting together.

Geoffrey’s fingers were pushing Jonathan’s lips apart, slipped between his teeth for a moment, and then he rubbed his thumb over Jonathan’s gums, right above one sharp, hungry fang. And Jonathan didn’t know if his … transformation, for lack of a better word, had made certain odd parts of his body more sensitive than they had been before, or if it was the simple fact that Geoffrey was touching him at all, or maybe just the gesture of trust this constituted from a man who a mere half year ago had merrily talked about how much he’d like to rip Jonathan’s fangs out of his mouth – whatever the reason, his touch made Jonathan shiver now, made his cock twitch inside of Geoffrey, made him shift desperately until Geoffrey started moving again, in a slow, languid rhythm.

“Open your mouth,” Geoffrey ordered, and Jonathan found himself obeying, just like he had all evening, out of curiosity as much as desire. He parted his lips further, felt Geoffrey’s fingers tighten their grip on his chin while his thumb petted Jonathan’s fang. And then, so deliberately slowly that Jonathan realised what he was doing even before he quite finished the motion, and yet still with a suddenness that overwhelmed Jonathan’s senses, he pressed the pad of his thumb against the tip of the fang.

Instantly the air was flooded with the scent of blood – strong, healthy blood, that of a man who could face an Ekon head-on and come out ahead, of a man who barely seemed to know what fear was, and the heady scent of him was harder to resist than any helpless patient, any mad skal, even any of the people Jonathan had actually fed on. It was hard to remember anything else, to feel anything else but the warmth of that living body on top of him, and he yearned for nothing more than to – 

“Hold still, leech. That includes your tongue.” Geoffrey’s voice sounded stern, but the look in his eyes when Jonathan made himself focus on something other than the blood pumping through his veins was greedy, as hungry as Jonathan felt. His mind was too clouded to figure out if Geoffrey was hoping he’d resist, or if he was just waiting for evidence that Jonathan was the mindless animal Geoffrey still accused him of being. So he held still, tried to keep his tongue as low as possible in his mouth to stop himself from lapping at Geoffrey’s thumb, from finally tasting instead of just smelling him.

Geoffrey was moving again, faster than before, his back straight enough that the cross was resting against his chest now, his muscles rippling with every sensuous movement, and for all that he kept trying to be quiet, Jonathan could _see_ all the ways in which his body was reacting, the places where his blood was pooling, how fast his pulse was, the arousal in the dizzying scent of his blood.

It was overwhelming, almost painfully so, and just as Jonathan wondered if it was possible to drive a man insane like this, Geoffrey’s thumb pressed down on his tongue. The world was nothing but a red haze then, the taste flooding Jonathan’s mind just from that one or two drops. He sucked on Geoffrey’s finger, his fangs kept in check even now, and when he looked up at Geoffrey, there was a mad sort of thrill in those blue eyes, as if he could hardly believe he was doing this. Sleeping with a leech, or letting him taste him, or both. And suddenly it wasn’t nearly enough to lie there and take it, to forego his own desires just to assuage Geoffrey’s paranoia. Jonathan tested the chains once, gave them a little tug twice, and then ripped them out of their hinges.

He had his arms around Geoffrey in the blink of an eye, the torn chains trailing down over the expanse of Geoffrey’s back where Jonathan held him in his lap, and he _felt_ Geoffrey’s pulse jump when he pressed his face into his neck. He was tensing up in Jonathan’s arms, and even in his lust- and blood-addled state Jonathan realised, if a moment too late, what this had to look like.

“I won’t bite you,” he said, though it was more a growl than anything else, far from the reassuring tone he would have liked it to be. But the taste of Geoffrey’s blood was thick on his tongue, and even thinking in words felt all but impossible. Geoffrey shuddered again, tensing once more as if he actually considered trying to fight him off – and after a moment he grabbed Jonathan’s hair so hard it would have hurt if Jonathan hadn’t been far too distracted to remember what pain was, and then he ground down against him. This time he couldn’t suppress his moan, or maybe he’d stopped trying.

“You’re still just a, ah, beast, once you stop pretending,” Geoffrey gasped, but he didn’t say “beast” with half as much venom as when he spat “leech” into Jonathan’s face. His skin felt feverishly hot under Jonathan’s cold hands, his pulse was racing when Jonathan brushed his lips over Geoffrey’s throat. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to bite him – wanted it almost as much as he wanted to keep having him in his lap, just like this, moaning and too far gone to worry about the fangs on his neck – but he wasn’t and had never been the mad animal Geoffrey had so wanted to believe he was. And most of all, he’d never _wanted_ Geoffrey dead, not even when Geoffrey was doing his best to try and kill him.

So all he did was grab Geoffrey’s hips to make him move faster, and kiss his throat before he growled, “You seem to like me beastly, or that cross would already be burning my skin off.”

The cross was warm between their chests, the silver heated up from Geoffrey’s skin, a stark contrast to the cold iron chains, and every time Geoffrey tried to squirm away from the cold metal all he did was move closer to Jonathan, his heart racing so loudly Jonathan felt half-deaf from it, his cock caught between their bodies. Jonathan thought about touching it, but he didn’t want to stop holding Geoffrey close against him, and judging by Geoffrey’s panting, he hardly needed to. Jonathan felt him come a few moments later, and when he looked up, he saw that Geoffrey’s eyes were closed, his lips parted in something that looked almost like rapture. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something relaxed about his face that Jonathan had never seen before, something almost careful about the way he clung to Jonathan’s hair now. For the first time Jonathan wondered just how long it had been for _Geoffrey_ if he’d grown desperate enough to go to a hated leech for company, and then he didn’t wonder about anything at all when he came inside him.

The flood of sensations was almost as overwhelming as the taste of Geoffrey’s blood had been, still lingering on Jonathan’s tongue, lingering in the air around them, too, though he doubted Geoffrey’s human senses could have still picked it up. For the first time in … too long, possibly since the last time he’d left England to return to the front, Jonathan felt the way Geoffrey had looked just now – as if his worries had been lifted from him, as if the world was once again simple, and easy, and promising, too. He wallowed in it, in the contentment, the closeness, the warmth of Geoffrey’s body, as much as in the physical satisfaction and the taste of his blood.

It was oddly comfortable, except for the chains on his wrists – sitting on his bed with Geoffrey still warm and boneless in his lap, his head on Jonathan’s shoulder although Jonathan couldn’t quite remember when that had happened. His neck was still distractingly close, but it was easier to resist the lure of his blood now. Jonathan was careful when he ran his fingertips over Geoffrey’s back, testing the waters to see if his touch would still be accepted, but for now Geoffrey seemed quite content to stay where he was, to allow Jonathan all the touching he’d been denied before.

So he explored whichever parts of Geoffrey he could reach – kissed his shoulder and the odd little scar there the provenance of which he couldn’t even guess, stroked slowly along Geoffrey’s spine, then splayed his fingers over one strong thigh, nails scratching gently at the edge of an old bite mark. He wondered just how wrong that fight must have gone for any vampire to sink his teeth into Geoffrey’s thigh, but somehow he doubted they had already reached the kind of intimacy where stories about scars, about old injuries and defeats, would be freely shared.

“I’m not getting ideas – before you feel the need to start chastising me again,” Jonathan said. At least to his own ears, he sounded more like himself again, like a man more than a growling animal. He could hear Geoffrey’s heartbeat slowing down, even though his breath still hitched now and then when Jonathan’s hands or lips touched the right place – it wasn’t just his neck that was so very sensitive, but also the juncture of hip and thigh, and the small of his back when Jonathan exerted just the right amount of pressure. If Jonathan had had all night, he would have set his mind to mapping out every inch of him, finding every sensitive spot and exploring just how Geoffrey liked having it touched.

Minutes passed in something that was almost companionable silence before Geoffrey became restless, shifted and glanced back over his shoulder at the chains. He grimaced.

“And here I brought the strongest chains I had lying around,” he said. Jonathan only resisted the urge to ask why he had so many chains lying around in the first place because he knew the answer wasn’t half as amusing as he would have liked. He knew why Priwen did what they did, and even agreed that in many cases they were quite right to do it, but he didn’t have to approve of all their methods.

“If it’s any comfort, I wasn’t entirely sure I could break them until I tried,” he said instead. Geoffrey snorted.

“God, you’re a smug bastard, Reid, but I have a feeling you already were one before you turned into a leech.”

“You’d be quite right about that.” Jonathan smiled a little – he couldn’t quite count the times Geoffrey had called him by his name on his fingers anymore, but it was still rare enough that he noticed, that he remembered. That it felt like a sign of … trust, maybe even affection in his own way. Or maybe it was only Geoffrey trying to be less of a prick than he usually was. Still, that was an improvement all by itself.

“Now, what do you say we skip the threats you’d no doubt like to level at me, and instead you tell me whether you’d like to stay a while longer.” He raised his hand to Geoffrey’s face, and when all his words got him was a slightly incredulous look, he allowed himself to touch Geoffrey’s cheek, the roughness of his stubble. He was flushed, but not only that – for the first time since he’d arrived and started all this, Geoffrey looked embarrassed. As if talking about it, even in the vaguest terms, even if only to suggest they do it again, was far worse than doing it. He looked away.

“I’d rather get back before my men start wondering where I went off to.” It sounded like an excuse.

“Mhm, did you tell them to come by with pitchforks if you don’t get back by eleven?” Jonathan asked, and that got him an actual laugh. He tried to remember if he’d heard Geoffrey laugh before – actual amusement rather than a grim chuckle here and there.

“Flamethrowers rather than pitchforks, but something like that.” He lingered for another moment, and when he extricated himself from Jonathan’s embrace, Jonathan held him back just as he was about to get up – carefully, because he knew better than to spook him, but with a firm enough grip on Geoffrey’s chin that he stayed sitting on the bed for now.

“You could simply leave the chains at home next time, or bring stronger chains if that makes you feel better, but either way … I would very much like to do this again.”

From the moment he’d said “next time”, several unreadable emotions crossed Geoffrey’s face, and he looked as if he hadn’t even allowed himself to think past tonight – maybe that, like talking about it, was far too uncomfortable for him. Jonathan spared him the burden of having to reply by kissing him the way he’d wanted to all evening – slow and deep, but firmly enough to keep him from pulling away, and after a moment’s hesitation Geoffrey kissed him back, as hungrily as if he’d wanted to just as badly as Jonathan. The taste of blood still lingered on Jonathan’s tongue, though it could have barely been more than a memory at this point, and kissing him only made him wish more that Geoffrey had decided to stay – to let Jonathan touch him some more and kiss him all over, maybe to take Jonathan if he was so inclined, or let him use his mouth … Maybe next time. If there was a next time.

He sighed when Geoffrey eventually pulled back and straightened up, and then proceeded not to look at Jonathan at all while he picked up his clothes and got dressed. Jonathan smiled wistfully to himself – he thought back of all the men he’d met in more or less questionable places before the war, of more or less surreptitious or lingering encounters, some full of shame, others simply full of pleasure, a few rare ones full of a genuine affection he’d once hoped would last. Quite a few of those men were married now, and at least as many were dead. Back before the war, most of those encounters had eventually ended just like this, with one or both of them awkwardly getting dressed while they tried not to look at each other, and there was a small comfort in the fact that one thing at least hadn’t changed, even if these days he wasn’t an ambitious young doctor dallying with other respectable gentlemen in a certain kind of club, but a bloodsucking creature of the night who for some reason hadn’t found anyone better to sleep with than a man who’d repeatedly tried to murder him.

At least Geoffrey had apparently moved past that particular idée fixe. He still hadn’t given Jonathan any kind of answer since he’d got up. Jonathan watched as the silver cross disappeared beneath his shirt, and then the scarf went around Geoffrey’s neck again – suddenly Jonathan quite regretted not even leaving a small scratch on him, the tiniest little mark for Geoffrey to remember him by. Geoffrey’s eyes met his for a moment, and then he glanced down at the manacles, still closed tightly around Jonathan’s wrists. 

“I’ll come back for these some other time,” he said, and a moment later he was gone. Jonathan listened to him walk down the stairs, and through the corridor, and then down the street until his steps and his heartbeat faded even to Jonathan’s heightened hearing. But even after that his scent lingered, that of the little drop of blood he’d spilt, and of his sweat on the sheets and on Jonathan’s skin.

Jonathan raised his right hand and looked at the chain dangling down from it. He’d have to find a way to get the manacles off without destroying them entirely, because of course Geoffrey hadn’t deigned to leave him the key – after all, he’d want to get in Geoffrey’s good graces again whenever he came by to pick them up. Jonathan hoped he wouldn’t keep him waiting for too long, and if he did, well, Jonathan might just have to go find him first.


End file.
